Page 54 of Bad Seed

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, thanks. I think I’m going to run by the house to check on him. He’s been depressed aboutthe warehouse fire. Thanks for the info,” he said, and headed home. He found his father in the library, sitting before the fire with a glass of whiskey on the table near his elbow.

“Dad! Are you all right?”

Wilhem turned, frowning. “Tip! What are you doing home?”

“I came to check on you. What’s wrong—and don’t tell me nothing, because I know better. Talk to me. I’m not just your son. I’m also your partner. If there’s trouble, I need to know about it, too.”

Wilhem’s hand was trembling as he reached for the glass of whiskey, took a sip, and then set it aside and leaned back, staring through the mullioned panes of the french doors leading out onto the patio.

“See that pair of cardinals at the feeders?” Wilhem asked, pointing.

Tip walked past Wilhem and gazed out onto the snow-covered lawn.

“Yes, I see them. What about them?” he asked.

“Now look over to the far left, there…under the holly bush. See the feathers in the snow?”

“Yes, looks like a hawk or some predator killed a bird. So what? Survival of the fittest, and all that,” Tip muttered.

Wilhem grunted. “Yes, and the animal world and the human world aren’t so different. We’re all going along, minding our own business, doing what we do every day, and we forget that life can end in the blinkof an eye. We think we have everything under control, and we’re being honest and fair, and we forget to look behind us. Or above us, as the case may be for the bird. That’s what happened to us. While we weren’t looking, someone took advantage of our business, betrayed our trust, and then killed to hide their deeds. I can’t fight what I can’t see,” Wilhem said. “I think burning the warehouse was a warning. A kind of retribution for messing up someone’s dirty little nest. I’m afraid they’ll hurt you. I’m afraid that auditor I hired to do a simple job might be in danger because of her association with me.”

Tip sat down on the ottoman at his father’s feet. “I’m here, Dad. I can take care of myself, and I’ll hire guards for you. I’ll even call the auditor myself and warn her to be careful. Is her number in your phone? Give it to me. I’ll call her now while we’re here together.”

“I already called her,” Wilhem muttered.

Tip sighed. “Again, I remind you we’re partners here. I need to be kept up to date with what you’re doing. So, what did she say? Was she worried? We can hire some security for her at her apartment.”

“She’s not at her apartment. She’s already on another job.”

“Then where is she? We’ll get security on-site for her. I don’t want you fretting.”

The cardinals had flown off and Wilhem was staring at the bird feathers scattered on the snow. “All I know is she’s not at home.”

Tip knew his father’s health was fragile. He feared this would trigger a heart attack. “Then give me her number and I’ll check in with her to make sure she’s doing okay so you can quit worrying. I think the arson investigator is due tomorrow. I plan to be on-site at the warehouse to see what he has to say. Oh…what was her name again…Harlow Banks?”

“Harley. Harley Banks,” Wilhem said, then pulled her number up on his phone and Tip added it to his contact list. “I think I’m going to go up and lie down for a bit,” he said, picked up his drink, and walked out.

Tip watched him leave, frowning at the sight. He’d never thought about his dad getting old. But it was as if he’d aged ten years overnight. What a mess. What a miserable mess.

***

Harley’s sleep was restless, and she was grateful when the sun finally came up over the mountain. She dressed, made a pot of coffee, and snagged a protein bar from the mini-fridge before returning to her spreadsheets.

It was just after 8:30 a.m. when the phone in her room rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Brendan said. “You haven’t called room service for breakfast, so I’m checking on you.”

Harley was unaccustomed to having anyone for backup and was touched by his concern.

“Whoa. You really meant it when you said you’d help, didn’t you?”

“I always mean what I say. I just don’t always say what I’m thinking. So, what sounds good? Hot oatmeal with brown sugar and peaches, pancakes and bacon, or a ham and cheese omelet with fresh croissants?”

“Yes,” she said.

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